The Cellist
by BEN-Beyond the Elusive Nomads
Summary: I could picture her taking care of small miniature me’s; whatever her eyes looked like, I wanted them to have it. They were deep with an unnamed emotion, and her face smiled with pure joy...And then the music stopped. Oneshot.


**The Cellist**

It was dark out, and the wind was running through my hair and causing my nose to cinch up in an attempt to keep in a sneeze. I was on my way to my small flat in muggle London after visiting James and Lily, and my precious godson Harry. I smiled just thinking how he zoomed around on his broom I had gotten him for Christmas just three weeks before.

I sneezed violently, and it was then that the most sorrowful sound hit my ears. I perked up and straightened when I spotted a dark figure on the other side of the street a ways up, a large wooden cello between their legs and their fingers caressing the neck of the instrument like a lover, her bow sliding against the strings and causing the fullest sound to echo out through the small f-shaped holes on either side of the bridge.

My breath caught in my throat as the sounds echoed around the almost empty street. For a moment I wondered why they were still playing when no one was around to watch, when I quickly took back that thought: I was glad they were playing. I hurried foreword and their shape cleared. It was a woman, around my age, maybe younger, and she had the most serene expression on her face as her eyes closed and she listened to her instrument.

I wondered how a muggle like herself could put such deep emotion in her song. Her dark hair whirled around her in the blistering wind that burned my skin. I pulled my jacket closer and watched her, stopping in front of her, but on the other side of the street. She couldn't see me.

The notes were full and ringing, sending chills down my spine. Her body swayed with the music and her lips moved to words that only she knew. They were slightly blue from the cold, and that s when I saw her clothes. They were ratty and torn, and I knew why she was still out here. She was homeless, and she was playing for money. I glanced down at my pocket with a frown: I only had Wizarding money with me.

Then the song changed, and her face twisted in agony. Her movements became angrier, and tormented as she poured her soul out into the instrument, causing a sudden pressure to form in my chest and tears to bite at the corner of my eyes. Her song caused heat to radiate from my core, and I felt my heart begin to beat wildly. I wanted to walk over there so I could hear better, but I knew that it would be stupid to do so; I would feel like a git for watching, and not paying her as she so desperately needed.

She was average in looks and size, though her fingers were bony and her face gaunt, and I wondered how she could get herself up every day and play with such passion. How had she not given up hope?

My imagination began to wander away from me and I leaned against a telephone pole. I could picture her, smiling and laughing, so that it radiated through her and draped everyone else in a blanket of bliss.

The music was slowing.

Her smile whipped way my worries, and left me breathless. I could picture us hugging, our bodies entwining, and out lips meeting in a blur of passion. I could picture waking up with her in my arms, smiling serenely, and in that moment, whipping away all my worries again.

The music grew quiet.

I could picture her taking care of small miniature me's, but with unknown eye color; whatever her eyes looked like, I wanted them to have it. They were deep with an unnamed emotion, and her face smiled with pure joy.

And then the music stopped.

I opened my eyes and she was setting lifelessly in her seat, her arm hanging limply with the bow still in her hand. The heat in my chest was gone, and I felt just as cold as before. Her head was lolled backwards, and her chest was still. Horror filled my chest, and without thinking I ran foreword to see if she was alright. I stopped in front of her, and I knew it was too late. Her chest was still, and there were no small fogs of breath in front of her to indicate her breath. I felt the tears burn against my eyelids as I realized that she was dead. I didn't know how, but I could name a few possibilities: frostbite, starvation, sickness.

Then a small idea popped into my head that brought a small, sad smile to my lips.

A broken heart.

I knew that I had no reason to mourn her death so, but it felt as if I had just lost a part of myself. I felt a few tears leave from my eyes, and I leaned foreword and gently pressed my lips to her forehead. I glanced at her open case, and saw that it was filled to the rim with money. I wanted to curse angrily, and quickly looking around, I removed my wand and with a quick incantation, I vanished the money to an unknown place. I wasn't going to look for them, but they were _hers. _No one else could have them.

I looked at her again, and saw her lips twisted into a small smile. I ran a finger down the neck of the cello, before I turned, and walked back towards my flat with thoughts of her stuck in my head. I locked the door behind me, and quickly pulled out my penseive and placed the memory there. I had a grim smile on my face.

She would be remembered.


End file.
